Inevitability
by Kristynite
Summary: Olivia's back in Special Victims and Elliot intends to show her just how much he missed her. Rated M for smut. Set at the end of Web.


The words escaped Elliot's lips like a breath he'd been holding in for too long. Powered by confusion, and perhaps a little bit of resentment, he had no filter.

"What are you doing here?" His brow was furrowed, the way it always did when he was thinking too hard, and Olivia, the partner who had unintentionally scorned him, fought a smile. After seven years, she could just about see through him. She read his soul the way Munch read propaganda online. It was as plain as the look on his face.

"I work here," she annunciated carefully, cocking an eyebrow as her eyes spent a few seconds scanning his face. To anyone else, it looked as if he hadn't reacted. His expression was the same – stone cold and puzzled. Olivia, however, could see the slightest of changes. His lower lip twitched. His blue eyes softened, warming a fraction of a degree.

She dropped into her chair, the familiar seat behind her familiar desk in the familiar room across from her familiar partner. Her time away had given her a great deal of perspective. Change could be good, sure. It could beneficial, even _healthy_ to get away sometimes, to get a change of pace and scenery.

But this time, she'd been wrong. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, especially Elliot who was still staring intently at her, but she had been wrong about needing to switch to Computer Crimes. She knew it as soon as she sat in a new office. No Munch on his soapbox, complaining about the government and spewing conspiracy theories. No Finn and his charming colloquialisms. And no Elliot across from her, squinting and cracking wise.

There was no doubt in Olivia's mind. Elliot was what she missed most. She had a sinking feeling as soon as she told Captain Craigen that she wanted out. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she'd swallowed them. She didn't want out of Special Victims and she sure as hell didn't want a new partner.

True, what had happened at the train station, and then in the warehouse, had shaken them. And it definitely brought a lot of unwanted attention to them. Were they too close? Olivia didn't think so. Neither did Elliot. Was there ever such a thing as caring too much for your partner?

Olivia would have denied it vehemently if you asked her. A partner, she'd say, is like an extension of yourself. They're your defender and you are theirs. You have each other's backs. You protect each other. You help each other. Save each other. Feed off of each other. Sometimes, they're the only thing between life and death.

The trouble, she figured, came from the fact that they had two very powerful, very dangerous instances back to back. First Elliot ran to her instead of a child for whom they were searching. And then she refused to shoot a perp who held him as a shield. Perhaps one incident could have been overlooked. With a few days off and a long talk over coffee, they could have gotten past that, made their peace with it and moved forward.

Two was just too hard.

Their faith had been shaken, both in each other and in themselves as individuals. Elliot had to wonder if he cared more about Olivia than about the victims he swore to protect. Maybe a few years back, if you had asked him, he would have said hell no. The victims came first. That was part of his job. But now, he played the moment back over and over again in his head.

All he saw was Olivia. He didn't even register the kid. He saw Olivia. He saw blood. He saw the fear in her eyes and he saw her go down. It was like his world had ended, like the floor had opened up beneath him. He would have sacrificed a million innocent kids to save her – and that scared him.

It scared her, too. And that was why she decided she needed a break. She needed space. She needed to be away from Elliot Stabler. But once she was, she could hardly bear it.

He drove her mad sometimes. The sarcasm, the rage, the near blindness he seemed to acquire when it came to saving a kid. Sure, it was what made the man such a great cop but it got him into trouble. It got them both into trouble. His unbridled selflessness and the unbearably bravery that he showed every single day was what made her respect him so much but it was also what drove her crazy. If he would just stop to think sometimes…

She could be a hothead, too. She wasn't denying it. She'd been known to snap on occasion, to slap around a particular abhorrent perp in the interrogation room. Olivia Benson would do whatever it took to get a confession out of some slimy pervert. But she was brains of the operation. Elliot was the muscle. But he was also the heart. And that, she decided, was what she missed.

And that, ultimately, was what sent her crawling back to Special Victims.

The people in Computer Crimes? They were good people. They were hard-workers. She liked them. She got on well with them. But they lacked Elliot's passion. They lacked the drive. The risk-your-life-to-save-a-kid mentality that she'd grown so accustomed to in SVU.

And now, sitting across from her partner of seven years, in the computer chair with the one bad wheel, typing on the computer with the 'D' key that always stuck, Olivia took a deep breath and relished in the familiarity of her comfort zone.

She was home.

Elliot still hadn't torn his eyes away from her.

Fuck, she'd only been gone three weeks and it was like his whole world had ended. Oh, Olivia might have realized where she wanted to be while she was in Computer Crimes. She may have worked out some of her shallower issues and figured out how she felt about her job and herself. But Elliot had done some deep, largely accidental soul searching while she was gone.

And he realized things about himself that he'd been fighting for seven years.

He guessed it had hit him that day in the locker room when, following, his fight with Blaine, he turned around to see Olivia staring back at him.

He'd be lying through his teeth if he said her transfer hadn't hurt him. This was a man who'd been shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings and through windows. And the worst pain he'd felt in his life was when Craigen told him that Olivia had requested a new partner.

And there she was, leaning against the locker with her hands behind her back, her eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. He knew her so well. He could always tell when she was holding back, when she was biting her tongue. But he didn't care what she had to say. He was rude to her, downright cold. He felt horrible about it. Inside, he was being torn to shreds. All he wanted to do was pin her up against the locker, kiss her and beg her not to leave him, to apologize for everything, take all the blame, pin her hands above her head and do what he'd been trying to pretend he hadn't wanted for the last seven years.

But instead, he just uttered some low remark and stormed out, cursing and hating his own skin.

He was watching her now, chair tucked under his desk. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, a pen gripped in his right hand and a paper he was pretending to read in his left. But he just watched her. He imagined the office empty, everyone gone home and going about their lives outside of work (though it baffled him that anyone could actually _have_ a life outside of work).

He'd charge to her side of the desk, lifting her from her chair and sitting her on top of paperwork and folders. He'd tell her everything, he'd spill his soul, confessing his love for her and apologizing for everything that had gone on. He'd clear off her desk, dramatically and romantically like in the movies she loved so much. And he'd finally know what it was like to have her and to hold her.

He swallowed hard and told himself to snap the hell out of it when he realized the front of his pants were getting too snug. There were people around. Coworkers. Good cops. Superiors. And she had just gotten back. She was working. On what, he didn't know. But he needed to get out. He needed some air. He excused himself and went to run an errand. There was a witness uptown that he needed to interview. Now would be as good a time as any.

He didn't get back to the station until after eleven. He still had paperwork to file and he figured the time alone, especially in his element, would clear his head. Most of the lights were off and he assumed that everyone was long gone. He was incredibly surprised, and noticeably taken aback, by the fact that Olivia was still at her desk.

"Burning the midnight oil?" he asked, clearing his throat. "You just got back."

Olivia was standing at the side of her desk, computer screen turned to accommodate her new angle. She had a folder open and she was chewing on her pen, a telltale sign of hard work and deep thought.

"Figured I'd jump right back in," she said. "Get back on the horse."

Elliot just stood in place a while, eyeing her from a few feet away. She reached for a pen on the opposite side, stretching and bending over the desk to make the grab. He gulped again, beginning to feel himself react physically again.

"I'm really glad you're back," he said loudly, taking a step closer. He hoped fruitlessly that the noise and movement could trick his body into relaxing.

Olivia smiled but Elliot couldn't see it.

"You know, El," she said, spinning around. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk as she leaned against it. "I'm glad to be back."

"I wanted to apologize," he stammered before she had a chance to turn back to her work. "For… everything." He took a deep breath, looking off into the dark corners of the room so Olivia couldn't see the vulnerability in his eyes. Everyone knew that Elliot Stabler didn't apologize. He did what he did and that was the end of it.

"What?" she asked softly.

"I wanted to apologize," he repeated. "For everything. It was all my fault, Liv. I'm so sorry it all went down that way." While speaking, he'd taken another few steps towards her. Now they were close, close enough for Olivia to see the remorse on his face.

"It wasn't your fault, El," she said. "None of this was your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It just… happened." Her glossed lips turned into a faint smile. "Things just happen sometimes. They get a little crazy. They get out of control. It's no one's fault."

"It was my fault," he said, his head rolling back on his shoulders. "I snapped at you that day, after the little boy. I blamed you when I should have blamed myself."

Olivia took his hands, a gesture that surprised him.

"I never want you to blame yourself," she said, a near whisper. Her hands were soft and her thumbs rubbed circles on his top knuckles. "We hit a rough spot. But here we are. Together again. Benson and Stabler, the MVPs of Special Victims." He laughed, weakly. "We are who we are, Elliot. We're passionate people. And we're such close friends. Sometimes things get out of whack and people fight. Even people as close as us." She smiled again and Elliot's lower body heated up in a way that embarrassed him. "But don't blame yourself for what went on. It was nobody's fault, okay?"

And Olivia made the face she makes, the face that always made Elliot's knees weak. It wasn't quite a smile or a smirk. It was hardly a shrug. It conveyed whatever it was she felt in the moment. And right now, sincerity shone through like the midday sun. She meant the words that she spoke and she wanted him to know it.

And when she let go of his hands and motioned to turn back to her desk, Elliot grabbed her by the shoulders and he kissed her with just as much sincerity and twice as much desperation. And Olivia kissed him back, linking her fingers around his belt loops and pulling him against her. She could feel his torso through his shirt, rock-solid and unyielding. And it wasn't the only thing she could feel through his clothes.

"Elliot, wait," she breathed, her right hand pressed flush against his chest. He almost couldn't hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. He was so lost in how good she smelled and how soft her lips were and how well she moved her tongue. But Olivia was rubbing his abs through the thin fabric of his work shirt and he snapped back into reality.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, moving her hands up to his shoulders.

"Why not?" he asked, breathlessly.

"We're… we're partners. It's wrong." Oliva's eyes scanned his face, searching for hints about how he was feeling, though what she felt against her thigh was a pretty big clue. "Isn't it?"

"Liv," he whispered, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Listen to me." His breaths were ragged. "Tell me you don't want this." He had his hands on her hips, holding her roughly against the side of her desk. "If you tell me you don't want it, I'll stop right now. But I have loved you for seven years. And I have wanted you every single second."

He ran a finger gently against Olivia's cheek, fighting back what would have been a huge smile otherwise.

"But the decision is yours, Liv. It's yours if you want it." He kissed her forehead as gently as he could. "I'm yours."

There was a moment, at least internally, of slight hesitation on Olivia's part. It was like the last seven years came rushing back to her in a flood. Every look, every glance, every touch, every conversation, every word spoken. She'd spent so long fighting her feelings, she could barely believe that they were real, not to mention reciprocated in the flesh.

"You're mine," she whispered back, covering his hand on her cheek with her own.

He lifted her into the desk, pressing himself tightly to her. Instinctually, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands travelled south, working his belt and discarding it to the floor. Her fingers found the still-hardening bulge in the front of his pants and held to it, touching tenderly and reminding him of her power.

He didn't let her linger for long, capturing her lips in another kiss before tearing her shirt open. She heard buttons hit the floor but barely cared enough to register it. Seven years worth of fantasies and sex dreams had been right. Elliott's dominant, aggressive tendencies weren't just reserved for work.

While he kissed down her neck, his lips moving slowly and softly, her mind drifted back to the most vivid and prominent dream she'd ever had about her partner.

It was a year or two before and Olivia had fallen asleep thinking about how brave and rogue Elliot had been to dive into the river to save a kid. He could have easily been swept off to sea but he disregarded his own safety and dove in like a pro. Actually, she'd been thinking about how he'd looked on the pier afterward, shirtless and smug as he talked to the EMT about the little girl he'd rescued.

Before she knew it, her subconscious had painted a scene so vivid and so mind-shattering that she swore it had to be real. It was outside, late at night when they were supposed to be staked out waiting. He'd dragged her around the back of the car, kissed her hard before tearing her shirt off her body and ripping her pants down her legs. He took the handcuffs from his belt and locked her hands behind her back, whispering something to her about being a bad girl and needing to be punished.

He bent her over the car, lifting her up by the waist. She was so sure that it was real. She could feel the cold metal of the car against her breasts. She felt the goosebumps on her skin. And without warning (though she was hardly complaining), she could feel him inside of her. She could hear him breathing, feel his fingers on her stomach and thighs. She didn't care where they were or who saw them or what happened after the fact. She just knew that she wanted him.

She woke up moaning and sweating, completely soaked in more ways than one. She finished herself off twice that morning before she even made coffee, thinking of Elliot and whimpering his name regretfully. And from then on, she found herself forced to bury physical feelings for her muscular partner. She'd cross her legs tightly, try to focus on other things, leave the room and hide out in the bathroom if she had to. Anything to keep her hands off of him. She'd done well so far, letting him star in several fantasies when she was alone but otherwise blocking him out.

But this had been the ultimate inevitable.

He was kissing his way down her chest, simply admiring the way she looked in a black lacy bra. He had no idea that she was thinking so deeply about her attraction to him until she pulled him by his shirt and kissed him softly and sweetly. He groaned against her lips, thinking how she tasted like strawberries and figuring that it was that lip gloss she always put on.

They locked eyes when the kiss was over and the amount of lust and desire he saw in her gaze was enough to nearly knock him out. Never in a million years did he think she would ever want him the way he wanted her. But here they were.

He could still taste strawberries on his tongue and Elliot wondered briefly how she tasted elsewhere. He was determined to find out but Olivia delayed his process, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt and helping it fall to the floor.

She felt his upper body, hands grazing over solid ab muscle and chiseled pecks. She'd been looking at them for seven years without being able to touch and now she was going to take her time and enjoy it, even if it was killing both of them.

Being mindful of the front, Olivia unzipped his pants and Elliot stepped out of them, standing before her in just a pair of blue boxers. Though he loved the way she looked in it, he decided quickly that her bra needed to go. He'd waited so long and he wasn't about to put it off another minute longer. Had he not been so impatient, he would have let her do the honors but his hands were behind her back before he could give it a second thought.

He let it drop behind her, onto the desk, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was like nothing he'd ever seen. Smooth skin, flat stomach, full breasts and swollen lips. Elliot took a few deep breaths, focusing and steadying himself. Otherwise, he would have rushed everything and taken her right there.

His fingers grazed up her ribs lightly and he smirked, leaning close to her ear.

"You're everything I dreamed of," he said. "And more."

Now naked from the waist up, the cold office, and Elliot's low voice, air sent chills up Olivia's spine. But, once he recovered from the sight of her, Elliot didn't make her wait long. His left arm hooked around her waist, securing her and giving himself all the control. His mouth latched onto her left nipple like he'd done it a thousand times. There was no hesitancy, no awkward movements. It felt so natural to both of them.

His right hand worked her other breast, his bottom teeth scraping gently against the nipple still on his tongue. Olivia let out soft, breathy moans as she succumbed to the all-too-familiar tug in her lower stomach. It was the greatest kind of torture but she needed so much more. Elliot took his time. He went slowly, enjoying every second and teasing the life out of her. He was so hard, it was beginning to hurt. And the warmth in his gut was his body's way of telling him to kindly move it along. But he wasn't about to waste a second.

Olivia tugged on his hair, encouraging him but begging him to stop. The ache between her legs was bordering on unbearable and she needed to be touched.

He couldn't ignore the way she couldn't sit still, the way her hips were rolling and her legs shaking. She lifted herself up and allowed him to slide her pants down her legs. He was gentle and considerate, not rough like in her dream. She could hardly decide which she liked best.

He pulled her close and kissed her lips, his hand falling between her legs, tracing lightly and tentatively over matching black panties.

"Getting inpatient?" he whispered tauntingly. Olivia took a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't recall a time where she'd ever been so turned on. It was delicious and painful and infuriating, all rolled into one.

"I want you," she breathed, touching her forehead to his. She looked him in the eye, silently begging. "Please."

His hand touched a little harder, his middle finger extended to rub circles against her aching clit. Her back arched, a sharp gasp leaving her throat.

Elliot just smiled. He _did_ love to be in control.

She was either about to slap his face ad curse him off or scream at him to fuck her when he tore her panties off in one quick movement. She didn't have time to utter a sound before he pushed her back flat on the desk and took one of her thighs in each hand.

The sight of her made his cock twitch. He worked hard to suppress a helpless groan. He was so surprised by his own self-control. But he promised himself long ago that if he ever got a chance with Olivia, he would ravish her. He would take his time and worship every inch of her.

Eventually, he'd give them both what they so desperately needed but right now, he just had to taste her.

His tongue swiped through her wetness once and the cry that tore itself from Olivia's throat almost knocked him out cold. So he did it again and again, forcing more primal moans from the pit of Olivia's stomach.

Her face was flushed red – she figured her whole _body_ was red. Her lower body trembled with the stress of trying to keep it together. She had to fight it. She couldn't let go yet. She wanted to finish with him, when he was inside of her. But she was so sensitive to oral. She'd always been completely undone by the feel of her lover's tongue leaving soft licks through her centre.

Elliot didn't know about her preferences but he was quickly learning. But he wasn't soft and light for long. He was rough and appreciative, so consumed by her. He'd made it a point to avoid her clit so far, wanting to keep her at bay with him for a while. He'd only intended on tasting her but the noises she made and the way she moaned his name absolutely encouraged him.

Rubbing the outside of her thighs affectionately, Elliot peered up. He nearly exploded right there. He'd never seen anything as sexy Olivia Benson with her back arched, her head thrown back in ecstasy, crying out as she teased her own breasts. He suddenly wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to wait.

Olivia was so in need of release, she was almost in tears. She was thinking that he was the best who'd ever gone down on her, all the while begging herself not to come, when Elliot slowed to a stop. She moaned a cry of relief coupled with disappointment as he kissed his way back up her body and to her lips, allowing her to taste herself on him.

"You're killing me," Elliot whispered harshly. But Olivia was so on edge, she couldn't wait another second. She grabbed his face, pulling him in for another kiss, before dropping her hands down and pulling his boxers from his hips. He kicked them off, grabbing Olivia by the waist and angling her hips towards him.

"Fuck me," she breathed.

"Okay," he complied, still kissing her.

"Please."

"Okay."

His left hand stayed on her hips, holding her steady. With his right, he gripped his cock, easing into her slowly. She gasped as she stretched around him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They both froze, lost in the moment. They'd waited seven years for this, seven long years of stolen glances and midnight fantasies.

"Come on, El," she pleaded, one finger drawing shapes down his spine. With a deep grunt, he complied, his hips moving slowly against her. There was no point in rushing anything, he figured. He was big. She was tight. He'd barely moved yet and they were both burning up, both completely in awe of the other's body.

He began to develop a decent rhythm, biting through his lower lip. She was so hot, inside and out, and he was sure that the world consisted of her and her alone.

"Elliot," she whispered as the pressure started to build. It felt like she was on fire, her skin burning with need. Elliot Stabler, deep inside of her, whispering dirty secrets in her ear and tangling his fingers in her hair. It was so much better than every dream she'd had, so much better than every fantasy. She swore she was melting to him, melting into a puddle of arousal and irregular heartbeats right there on her desk.

He pounded her harder, pulling her closer. Her body rocked against him, whimpering and whining as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

"Harder," she begged, her muscles already weak. "Please, El."

The way she came undone, the pleading in her voice, the way her body shook, the way she begged him… It was all so atypical of the Olivia he knew and loved. She had surrendered herself to him completely. She gave him the control. She let him be in charge, let him make a woman of her the way _he_ wanted to. And while Olivia had almost always been the one in charge in her sexual relationships, she was just too turned on by Elliot's rough hands and deep growls to protest.

He fucked her hard against the desk, pulling her legs up around his waist for more leverage. Her moans were getting louder, her breaths shallower. She could feel it in her stomach, a wildfire that emanated between her legs and spread through the rest of her body. The muscles in her lower abdomen were contracting, tightening and telling her that she wasn't going to last.

And Elliot was intuitive. He could see it in her dark eyes. He wanted to have her like this forever. He never wanted this moment to end. But she needed a release. And he'd been teasing her for a while. She _needed_ to come. And he needed to be the one responsible.

He licked his fingertips, reaching down to rub circles on her clit. She cried out, shamelessly losing all control. She came with a scream of his name, digging her nails into his shoulder. Her hips bucked against him as she moaned obscenities into his ear, seeing fireworks behind closed eyelids. The feel of her muscles tightening around him finished Elliot off. He bit into her shoulder, trying to silence himself as he came hard.

Slowly, after their hearts had both slowed and their bodies had cooled off some, Elliot pulled out of her, letting her drop back into a comfortable position on the desk. She was still struggling to breathe normally, completely exhausted from what could only be described as the strongest orgasm of her life.

Elliot licked his lips, his eyes raking over her body one last time. He officially knew everything there was to know about this woman. Yesterday, he knew her favorite band and how she took her coffee and how she played with her hair when she was tired. Today, he knew how she tasted and how she felt and the desperation in her voice when she came.

They could never go back to how they were – not that either of them wanted to.

Wordlessly, Elliot pulled his pants back on. He didn't know what to say. Olivia was quiet, too, and Elliot feared that she regretted what they'd done. He kept his mouth shut and searched for her clothes.

He found her shirt under Munch's desk, smirking slightly at that irony. Munch was always the one who said that they should just sleep with each other already.

When he tried to give Olivia's shirt back to her, she grabbed both sides of his face and captured his lips in their softest kiss of the night.

"You're mine," she whispered, her voice like a midnight breeze. "You've always been mine." He stared into her eyes, nodding. Seven years. It took seven years. And it was worth every second.

"And you're mine," he said quietly.

"I'm yours," she said. "Completely yours."


End file.
